


Dragon's Milk: The Auburn Titan

by tiberiusirius



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asphyxiation, Bondage, Chases, Come Eating, Cunnilingus, Death, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fight Sex, Fingerfucking, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Incest, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Mental Instability, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Spoilers, Starkcest, Violence, Voyeurism, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiberiusirius/pseuds/tiberiusirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wolf with a taste for steel finds herself drawn to stalking a foreign auburn titan through the streets of Braavos out of curiosity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Masks of Essos

It was impossible not to notice him. He stood near a head taller than anyone else around him, but even had he not, the reddish auburn of his hair easily distinguished him from the tanned skinned dark haired Braavosi natives. His coloring harkened back feelings of loss and halted her in her steps as memories flooded her mind; a wolf pack long since scattered to the winds and brothers and sisters of a similar look passed on to a blessedly less cruel existence. She was the only one left. This large boy, only newly a man as indicated by the wispy stubble on his cheeks despite his size, couldn’t be and wasn’t part of that pack. Though he looked as if he’d be a handy person to have around if the need for allies did arise.

 

He might’ve been the largest man she’d ever seen. Vaguely in the back of her mind she recalled a towering raven haired blue eyed smith probably still playing at being a knight back across the Narrow Sea, as well as a halfwit from the North who people from a home that had long since been burned and forgotten used to say was part giant. This man was somewhere in between, larger than the smith but smaller than the giant.

 

He was a curious thing, and there was something very lethal about him. In his stride there wasn’t necessarily a swagger one would compare with a dueling Bravo, although there _was_ something innately cocky, something of an inherent but not necessarily misplaced confidence, a danger. More so there was a facility about him that spoke of a predilection to violence with little cause for provocation necessary. He was wild.

 

All at once she was fascinated, wary, and utterly enthralled by something of his familiarity. She resolved to find him again after her mission to collect information from the sailors in the Purple Harbor was concluded. Cunt starved seamen were always willing to part with what little news they had of the world if only to talk to a pretty face. Though she wasn’t the most beguiling of women she regularly took advantage of their weakness and caught them fresh off the ships. The curiosity that was the auburn titan must be forgotten and investigation resumed at a later time; work must be done if she were to remain in business.    

 

It wasn't until that night that she first saw his face. She followed word of a massive fire-haired, fire-tempered foreigner to a section of the city known as the Drowned Town and then on to the Spotted Cellar where she found him amongst the crowds placing coin on their champion of choice before the eel fights began. She too placed coin to blend in but her attention was captivated by something else entirely.

 

He was rugged in a way that she hadn’t seen since her days as a child of the North and more handsome by half than any one man had a right to be. He wasn’t pretty like her lost bastard brother the crow, nor could anyone claim he was anything but eye-catching, but it was the manner in which he exuded virility that had her breath catching and her cunt dripping. She snorted to herself, smirking and thinking he was certainly a maids dream—dangerous, dashing, and desiderate. Still, her mirth was short lived and she found the smile wiped off her face entirely when she glanced his eyes.

 

As if he felt the heat of her gaze upon him he swiveled his head and grey eyes met the deepest of blues. Arya wanted to look away but there was a challenge lingering between them, a hard lined question of intention, whether it be aimed towards menace, apathetic impassivity, or simple warning. His fathomless cobalt gaze considered her through narrowed lids as he drew himself up to his substantial height, weighing her as a threat. Her hands twitched towards the daggers at her waist and she found herself irritated at the subconscious admission to finding him formidable, even more so when the corner of his mouth turned upwards in a decidedly lupine manner having seen her uncharacteristic flinch.

 

She felt her mouth drift into something akin to a snarl and his grin widened ferociously, an almost feral gleam in his eye along with thinly veiled salacity.

 

As much as she despised backing down, the tension was too much. The anticipation aimed towards something hazardous and unknown, a promise of some peril of vulnerability on her part should it continue. Arya swiftly turned on her heel and exited the establishment, libidinous eyes scorching her back as she did, its heat coiling something deep and dangerous between her legs which begged for release. 

 

She made it as far as the alleyway before the anger at what had just taken place had her climbing onto the nearest roof to wait and watch. Her fists clenched and unclenched continually thinking about the unspoken battle she had just retreated from. Her hands were cramping and she was cursing herself for a fool by the time he emerged from the tavern staggering slightly and well into his cups.

 

She followed him along the rooftops as he made his way through the city none the wiser to her presence, stalking him as he made his way to wherever he was staying whilst in the city. She wasn’t even sure what she planned to do or why she was even following him, but she didn’t question it. She was drawn to him, even if it was simply to observe and delight in the sculpture of his body. The terribly wide expanse of his back and the sizeable mass of his somehow still lithe looking limbs was decidedly rather appealing.

 

He stopped at an intersection near the Cattery upon hearing the cat-calls of the whores looking for custom. The small hesitation was all the women needed to desert their places standing outside the brothel and saunter down to surround him and begin offering him tastes of their services as they laved at his neck and sucked at his earlobes, hands fondling the laces of his breeches and the corded muscles of his trunk like arms.

 

For his part he welcomed it, leaning smugly into the pressure of hands on his cock and grabbing brutishly at the women around him until he finally settled on a lissome looking chocolate haired girl, drawing her into him roughly and pressing the whole of his front up against her back while whispering something into her ear that made the girl go slightly weak in the knees. What a man possessing of so little years could possibly say to truly arouse a well weathered Braavosi courtesan was beyond her. Although admittedly it was intriguing to consider due to the fact that it provided illumination as to the idea that he must be either very experienced in the act, or naturally gifted in the art of seducing even the most insusceptible of persons.

 

As the other whores backed off and made their way towards their previous posts to actively seek the wages offered to them by randy drunks for returned pleasure, the engaged couple retreated down an alleyway and Arya followed on roof top well aware of what she would find and warm-blooded at the thought.

 

Silently she crouched down peering over the edge, her heart beating faster than she could ever remember, including those times when she stalked prey as one of the Faceless hired to deliver the Gift of the Many Faced God. She almost found herself groaning in need as she watched the young auburn haired colossus effortlessly pick up his whore while ravaging her neck with his greedy mouth and walking over to set her down on some abandoned crates right beneath where she stood. She was helpless to part her lips in order to accommodate her sudden need for air as her eyes feasted on the sight of the lust she too wished to release.

 

He smothered the whore’s slight body with his own massive frame, leaning over her and roughly claiming her mouth with his as he grabbed fistful after fistful of her skirts lifting it to expose the only part of her that was of any use to him. Swiftly his lips moved down her neck, his deft fingers unlacing the shirt that held back her breasts in a practiced move before he buried his face between them moving his head back and forth to feel the mounds of flesh on either of his cheeks causing the girl to writhe and giggle, though it turned into a yelp after he bit into one ferociously. She looked slightly affronted but that all changed as he moved lower still.

 

Arya didn’t know whether it was she who was more surprised or the whore when the hulking beast buried his face between her open legs. The woman let out a strangled cry as she bit her lip and melted into him, clearly enjoying the ministrations of the capable young man as he brought one of his massive hands into the mix, delving inside of her with his long thick fingers as he flicked his tongue against her nub.

 

She cried out loudly when he pinched her clit between his fingers and the low rumble that came from his throat before he soothed her with his mouth made Arya subconsciously squeeze her thighs together as she swallowed thickly. He thoroughly seemed to be enjoying this, and the whore looked helpless but to do the same with no need for acting on her part.

 

When his fingers began to pump into her in a harsher rhythm and her tits began to bounce crudely in time he seemed to want to get a look at the fruit of his efforts, and he looked up at the whore after sucking her nub lightly between his teeth. His eyes grazed the body writhing before him and continued up to glance upon her face, the eyes of the whore tightly closed and mouth wordlessly ajar enjoying the pleasure, Then his gaze briefly flicked up even further, though only for an instant at first. Once he registered there was a person, and after focusing for a moment realizing that it was Arya leaning over the edge taking in the show from the shadow of a chimney, he stared her down, feral wrath barely leashed.

 

Arya held her breath and his gaze, refusing to back down this time as she trained her stare at him emotionlessly. The unspoken challenge renewed between them once more as his eyes flashed dangerously at the provocation and interruption.

 

His gaze hardened as he came to his feet eyes still latched onto Arya’s. She thought at first he would dismiss the girl in favor of a fight considering he’d abandoned his efforts with his tongue, but realized quickly he wasn't going to let her—his opponent—dictate his actions and that he planned to get his pleasure.

 

He flipped the whore over roughly before the girl had time to question why he’d stopped with his tongue. Without breaking eye contact with his challenger he had the girl bent over the crates ready for the taking despite Arya’s intrusive looming presence above on the rooftop, the other woman still obviously ignorant to anything else that was happening.

 

When the girl tried to push up on her hands he didn’t even let his gaze stray from Arya’s as he placed a hand on the back of her head forcefully, keeping her there and preventing her from moving. “Stay down.” He growled at the whore in bastardized and broken Braavosi. He arranged her skirts blindly to better gain access to her cunt, intense cerulean blue eyes focused on another woman entirely; an adversary rather.

 

Soon enough he was tugging at his laces and Arya found she couldn’t resist the urge to observe his fingers at work and let her gaze linger there while his own eyes still burned into her. She watched him withdraw his cock, a long and thick thing perfectly proportional to his stature. She licked her lips involuntarily as his massive hand pumped over it a few times before he stepped closer to the whore and began running his head along her slippery cleft.

 

“You like that?” He rumbled brusquely. As Arya’s eyes flicked back up to his, she had no illusions as to whom he was speaking though it was the whore who groaned out an answer. The girl tried to push onto her forearms again but his hand was instantly back on her head, pushing her cheek further against the crate and there it remained.

 

Following the purposefully callous action, which was undoubtedly meant as a caveat for his adversary, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a lopsided grin that made him seem part wolf. As soon as he had Arya’s eyes trained back on his he sank his cock into the whore all the way to the hilt exhaling deeply, nostrils flaring as he did. He stared Arya down, daring her to look away as he began an unhurried pace.

 

Arya couldn’t stop herself from glancing to where his prick was plunging into the woman’s core and was staring there when his sizeable hand mockingly reached around and underneath the girl. The resulting obstruction of Arya’s view as he began again with his attention to the woman’s clit clearly aimed towards the purpose of taunting her with his skill as he smirked at her wickedly.

 

She knew when she looked back up at him there was hunger in her eyes and wasn’t surprised that something changed in his as well. They stared transfixed by the challenge of one another unbeknownst to the girl getting fucked by his leaden cock and pleasured by his large blunt fingers. His pupils dilated as they watched one another for any type of reaction, his aim clearly hoping to elicit one.

 

His own eyes almost turned black as he began thrusting without heed into the woman while driving her mad with pressure to her nub and staring salaciously at the challenger on the roof. He was just beginning to sweat, his bollocks colliding with the skin of the whore in obscene wet sounding smacks that echoed through the night and served to assist in soaking Arya’s own smallclothes.

 

Soon enough the girl was mewling out her orgasm, wriggling about underneath the hand he still had on the back of her head as he pressed her cheek to the wood making sure she stayed where she was, determined not to let her move so as to remain ignorant to his roof top stalker and the show he meant to give her.

 

 Arya watched as he grit his teeth while still holding her grey gaze, pounding into the whore harder than before then abruptly withdrawing from the boneless woman and pumping his hand up and down his shaft a few times and coming hard all over the woman’s proffered backside.  

 

Arya found herself staring at his still hardened and proud cock as it jutted out from his solid body and bobbed up and down as he panted from exertion. It was entrancing, but not as much as the sight of his seed spilt all over the woman’s rump, her legs still weakened from orgasm and looking as if she had no inclination to move.

 

Arya didn’t see it but the young man smirked following her gaze first to his cock then to where he had spilt his seed. With a crafty little chuckle he ran two fingers through the mess disrupting her stare and catching her attention before grabbing the whore by the back of the hair and hauling her to her feet where he shoved his come covered fingers into her mouth and she sucked greedily, eyes closed as he ran his lips along her neck while looking wickedly up at the challenger on the roof.

 

“Want a taste?” He asked slyly as the whore moaned around his hand.

 

Arya stared down at him, restraining herself with all the effort she could muster from either amputating the insolent bastards cock or moving to fuck him. She came out of her crouch to stand clenching her fists.

 

The man tensed momentarily but when she made no other move or threat he smirked and quickly turned the whore around in his grip, fishing in his pockets for coin before placing it in her hand and unceremoniously shoving her towards the mouth of the alley. The still woozy girl huffed a bit, displeased with her gruff treatment and especially bewildered after he had taken the time to concern himself with giving her pleasure. Even so, she stalked away and out of the alley as he pulled his still hard member back behind his laces while glaring back at the shadow on the rooftop.  

 

“Are you so eager for death or do you just wished to be well and truly fucked?” He questioned, his eyes scrutinizing her carefully, still wary. “I do not take well to being followed.” He warned, his voice harsh steel.  

 

She snorted. “Speak the Common Tongue Northman. You don’t have the mouth for Braavosi and it pains my ears to hear you try.” It was her turn to smirk seeing the slight widening of his eyes in surprise at the recognition that she too was Westerosi, possibly even northern. 

 

Suddenly his expression turned calculating, that feral look returning as he considered her suspiciously. “Who are you?” It wasn't a question, it was a demand coupled with a threat and asked through a snarl.

 

Arya sneered at his audacity. “I am no one.” Somewhere in the corner of her mind her subconscious was having a good laugh. After all these years and being dismissed from the House of Black and White, here and now she was once again trying and failing to insist she was No One, and to a stranger no less.

 

The auburn titan on the other hand found no humor in her words. It was quite obvious that he was used to getting his own way, and with strength like his she could see why he wouldn’t be defied regularly. It wasn’t surprising that he clearly didn’t appreciate her lack of answer. His left eye twitched in annoyance and his nostrils flared as his fists clenched. She watched as all his muscles tensed, coiling tight like a spring. She recognized the precursors to physical action, so before he made a move, she did.

 

Turning swiftly and silently on her heel she disappeared into the night just as she heard him loft himself on the roof. She was out of sight before then, and once she was lost to a person’s vision, even for a moment, she could disappear as easily as a ghost. As she made her way slithering like a snake through the shadows and away from him, she heard an aggravated howl from the rooftop that sounded more creature than human. She was entirely too pleased to hear his frustration.

 

She thought her resolve to stay away from him and the obvious trouble he would bring her was intense enough that she would no longer seek him out, but a few days later after several of her best sources told of an auburn Westerosi beast of a man seeking out a swift girl, dark of hair and gray of eyes, she folded. She had to do something. It didn’t bode well for business that, as a freelance assassin and collector of debts, a fellow as formidable looking as he was seeking her out for unknown reasons. She didn’t want to spill the blood of such a carnally alluring creature but if she had to she would.

 

It wasn't hard to find a foreigner of his stature and coloring even in a city so large. Besides, she was more familiar with the canals and alleys than most of the city’s inhabitants due to her line of work and her time spent at the House of Black and White. Come nightfall, after more pressing business was taken care of and money returned to the Iron Bank from an unruly debtor, she set out towards the wharves near the Drowned Town and came upon her titan a few streets away from the Moon Pool.

 

She was curious as to why he would venture to this part of the city, and at night no less considering the collection of Bravos that would gather at the Moon Pool by moonlight to duel each other and match skills. So she contented herself with stalking him. He strode with a purpose and any but a fool would see that there was a lethal menace behind his movement. Still, that wouldn’t stop a Braavosi sword from challenging him, looking to make a name for themself in the street. He certainly presented a monumental target to be taken down though he seemed ignorant of what he was walking into.  

 

When he stalked into the square and saw an ongoing duel and others off to the sides watching and sizing each other up for a fight he halted his movement and tilted his head to the side as if curious as to what was happening. To his credit, or mayhaps stupidity, even with all the eyes on him, many of which were judging him keenly in a very predatory way, he didn’t tense. He met each glare levelly, no doubt challenging everyone with the intense animalistic rage that she had come to associate him with. It was exactly because of this that one particularly brave soul approached him. When she realized that brave soul to be Orbelo she thought he might save her the trouble of spilling blood.

 

“You come to the Moon Pool by night foreigner?” Orbelo drawled circling the titan with his sword outstretched towards the young man.

 

“I search for a Westerosi girl.” He stated coldly in broken Braavosi, clearly eyeing the blade in dislike his face twisting into a snarl. “Dark of hair, pale skinned, and grey of eyes.”

 

Arya had to chuckle at his method of questioning. Maybe the man he faced _was_ challenging him, but making demands when you sought help generally wasn’t the best way to garner information. _Friends_ were more likely to flap their tongues than foes.

 

“I know of this girl.” Orbelo told him flippantly before turning side face and falling into the stance of the Water Dance. “But you will not leave this place to find her. “You’ve come to the Moon Pool by night now draw your blade.”

 

“I’ve no blade.” He said through gritted teeth. “Tell me where the girl is.” His fists were clenched and he looked to be shaking with unleashed fury.

 

Orbelo raised an eyebrow at him “Such demands and with no weapon!” He taunted mockingly. “Luckily I’ve a spare.” From on his back he unsheathed a second sword and threw it on the ground at the larger man’s feet. When the titan didn’t pick it up the Bravo glared at him darkly. “Pick it up. I shall not hesitate to kill you if you choose to remain defenseless.”

 

The larger man sneered in the most chillingly savage manner as his deep blue eyes glittered delightedly. In a bold move he kicked the man’s offered sword into the Moon Pool. “I am anything but defenseless.” He rumbled deeply though it sounded more like a growl coming from the bowels of a wolf.

 

The outraged Braavosi sneered and lunged, thrusting his sword forward aggressively. For all of his size, the titan was whip fast. He stepped back with one leg, easily moving himself out of harms way while his long arm reached out like lightening to wrap his much larger hand over the bladesman’s sword hand. The next second the Bravos’ face twisted in pain and he dropped his grip on the rapier before a massive fist came sailing at his face hitting him square in the nose. It was over in seconds, Orbelo left on the ground bleeding profusely and knocked completely unconscious. Arya couldn’t help that she burst out laughing on the spot though she instantly regret it.

 

Her girlish mirth rang out through the stunned silence of the square as everyone tried to comprehend what happened. Almost as quickly eyes were turned to the roof where she took watch, specifically a very blue pair of eyes.

 

Before she could really collect herself properly he was dashing towards her, vaulting himself smoothly onto the roof with the ease of a marten moving amongst trees looking for prey. His speed was staggering as was his agility. He moved with the graceful dexterity of a creature of the forest rather than the lumbering steps of a goliath. She would need to be swift.

 

They faced each other on roof, both poised to move but leaving the other open to try first. Arya smirked observing his posture. He looked ready to pounce, like an alpha waiting to initiate the chase, the anticipation of a hunt glimmering alongside excitement in his eyes. He wanted to _run_. He smirked at her, his eyes never leaving hers and when she sprang off the roof and onto the next he was right behind her sprinting along behind.

 

He was fast but she had been running these roofs for over a decade and could tell where the tiles were loose and where to place her feet. Still it was clear that if it lasted long enough he would best her in this chase, he would catch her.

 

Yes she had stamina but she was willing to bet he did too. He had waited for her to run, thrilled in it even. It would come down to a fight if she didn’t manage to get out of his sightline and disappear, if that was even maneuverable at this point. She needed to come up with something quick or pick her ground wisely for the fight. If she could just make it to the Sweetwater River it was a long underwater swim to the Great Canal but she had years of practice and training for instances such as these and she could hold her breath longer than any other she’d met. Her decision was made, it was just a matter of out running the man who was gaining on her with each step they took.

 

It was only when she went to make an abrupt turn, leaping left from one building to the next that he gained advantage. Instead of following her route he had enough foresight to bound across the alleyway that had been too wide for her to hope to span and managed to cut catty corner and shorten the distance between them. It was enough for her to realize she stood no chance of making it to the canal.

 

She felt wind behind her and heard the absence of footsteps so she stopped short abruptly and dove left, using her shoulder to try and roll to her feet so she could avoid his attempt to dive tackle her. It worked only in so far as avoidance and she cursed as she tried to right herself but fell victim to the loose tile that she was normally so practiced at avoiding and went plummeting into the courtyard of the dilapidated and partially sunken abandoned manse below.

 

She only just managed to get to her feet and withdraw the two long wolf-hilted curved daggers she favored ever since she outgrew needle, when he dropped smoothly to his feet before her. There he remained crouched gracefully and grinning.

 

“Sharp fangs wolf girl.” He rumbled huskily nodding towards her weapons and taking in the carvings.

 

She smirked flourishing the blades showily while correcting him. “Not wolves, Direwolves.” She saw his grin widen even more just as she began her charge.

 

She came at him blindly fast, spinning with blades whipping around her seeking flesh and using her momentum to put power behind her blows though none of them ever landed. He backpedaled away from her, ducking when necessary while keeping his eyes firmly concentrated on her weapons, though he still managed to anticipate her next spin. He stepped into her back at precisely the right moment to be free of the path of her blades and used his strong arms to sweep hers over her head and securely grip both of her wrists in one large hand as she stumbled backward against his chest.

 

“You won’t be needing these.” He purred into her ear as one at a time he too easily pried her fingers open and flung her daggers into the wooden support beam directly in front of her, burying them to the hilt with the force of his strength behind it.

 

Now stripped of her fangs, he snaked his freehand down her front between her breast and over her stomach, reaching between her legs and grasping her roughly almost greedily. “You’ve seen mine, it’s only courteous that you show me yours don’t you think?”

 

Arya jerked her hands forward in his grip at the same time she thrust her backside into his groin feeling his exigency hard against her back. Her movement had the desired effect as he groaned at the friction and lessened his grip just enough that in tandem with looping a foot around his calf he was falling over backwards with her on top of him. She managed to twist around in his grip and land astride him with the blade she kept up her sleeve at his throat. 

 

Rather than scowling or grimacing he was grinning like a fool and before she had time to register what that could possibly mean she found herself underneath him as in one deft movement he reversed their positions, her knife still noticeably at his throat.

 

“Such a fierce and worthy prize to steal.” He purred sultrily, looking down and regarding her body with carnal, animalistic lust.

 

Carless of the blade threatening his life, he ground his pelvis against hers using his significant weight to keep her pinned as he pressed further into the steel and moved his head to growl against her throat and breath in her scent.

 

“A Wildling then?” She stated, recalling the Free Folk and their penchant for stealing those they desired and carrying them off into the night to stake their claim. She’d been told tales of the dangerous few who even braved scaling the Wall to kidnap Lords daughters and take them as wives, carrying them back to the harsh wilderness beyond the Seven Kingdoms

 

“As good as.” He admitted, a bit of conceit behind his words of all things.

 

When she did nothing to supplement her threat and add pressure to the blade on his neck he lifted a hand and grasped her forearm in his grip using his superior strength to move her knife away from his throat.  

 

Once the steel rattled to the pavement he let his grip on her go and she chose to use her hand’s new freedom to fist a handful of his thick auburn hair and tug his head down to crush his ever smirking lips against hers and arch her body up so there was no space between them. It was a messy aggressive kiss, all tongue and teeth as they as they both fought for dominance. He ferociously refused to yield and she bit his lip as he pulled away to trail an enormous hand down her abdomen.

 

“Shall I divest you of your other blades as well?” His eyes bored into hers as his hand stopped at the garters she had wrapped about each thigh. He squeezed a handful of the flesh just above where there was sheathed a collection of useful tools for her trade, his hand almost encircling the muscle of her leg near her sex as he did.

 

She made to stop him from doing as he said and leaving her bare of more of her precious steel, but he halted her protestation by rapidly wrapping his other massive hand around her neck in warning. His eyes daring her to move and ensuring that she stayed where she was in much the same manner she’d previously subjected him to with her knife.

 

The selection of blades strapped to her thighs weren’t the only ones hidden about her person. She had one beneath either breast, four concealed in her boots, and the matching silver clips she used to sweep her hair off her neck also sheathed two slender blades, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why she didn’t reach for any of them. Besides of course the maddening and preposterous idea that she enjoyed the feel of his thick, callused fingers essentially encompassing all of her delicate neck and threatening her life.

 

As he tugged her laces hurriedly and pulled the britches off of her hips in a single rough movement to reach for the leather strapped about each leg, she tensed and in turn so did the grip on her throat. His eyes threateningly remained glued on hers as he unclasped the small buckles on either of her inner thighs and tossed her stash of weapons off to the side. She thought he was done but his hand slithered under her shirt where one at a time he divested her of the knives underneath her breasts, cheekily managing to run thumbs over her nipples while doing so and earning him murderous glares. Her hands twitched towards her head in response to his arrogance but his grip on her throat tightened in warning and she cursed herself for a fool when he then directed his attention to removing her hair clips, throwing them off to the side to join the other knives he’d taken from her.

 

Now that nearly all her weapons had been taken from her, she began to feel more helpless and bare than she had ever been since she was a child crossing the Narrow Sea. She began to feel vulnerable and she began to truly rebel against it. When he switched positions and moved his enormous weight off of her and to the side so he could draw her legs up and reach into her boots to collect the last of her steel while still maintaining his grip on her neck, she’d had enough.

 

As soon as her legs were free of his bulk she rolled her hips upwards and latched them around either side of the arm he had restraining her by the neck. Ignoring the fact that her britches were not properly on her hips, though they had been pushed slightly back up to give her some semblance of coverage with the move, she was immediately clenching her thighs around his massive bicep near the shoulder and crossing her ankles in front of his face. Using both her arms to secure his massive forearm to her chest, she used the advantage of her positioning in tandem with all of her strength to try and force his body away from hers with her legs while holding onto and yanking his arm in the opposite direction subsequently forcing him to remove the fingers from her throat less he prefer a dislocated elbow or shoulder.

 

It was only because she had taken him by surprise that she was once again in control of her own airways, otherwise he could’ve easily prevented her efforts with his strength. Still, she wasn't fool enough to think she could best him in a wrestling match, so as soon as she was free of his fingers she darted quickly away withdrawing her last four knives from her boots.

 

“That,” He said growling and coming to his feet, rolling his shoulder to release the lingering discomfort, “you will be paying for.”

 

The look he gave her made her skin crawl while simultaneously stoking the fire of arousal in her belly. She briefly glanced at her discarded weapons and he immediately stepped in front of them blocking her way. She was loath to leave them behind but then again she didn’t see any other way out of this other than submittal and he’d have to do nothing short of tying her up for that.

 

Her eyes scanned the premise to quickly determine the best method of escape but when he began to stride towards her she abandoned that and threw two knives to distract him before sprinting at the wall to her left and pushing off of it to reach for the windowsill and pull herself through. She knew from the sound of metal hitting brick that he’d avoided her blades and was most likely right behind her, so when her unlaced trousers began to tangle in her legs and she tripped she figured he’d be on her in a second and he was, though this time she had _two_ knives at his belly. 

 

“Move again and we’ll both be covered in your blood.” She told him as he hovered over her looking murderous. She moved one knife south to his cock and pressed the steel against his erection to emphasize her point.

 

His breathing hitched momentarily. “Use that knife as you intend and I promise it won’t be just be my blood that’s spilt.” He snarled at her his eyes like blue wildfire. “I _will_ have you.” He insisted still.

 

She smirked at him wolfishly knowing she still had the advantage. “Not today.” She told him definitively.

 

She twisted the knife still at his stomach into his skin a bit to encourage him to extricate himself from her but when it worked to do the opposite she wasn’t at all prepared. Apparently a knife poised to remove his cock wasn’t enough of a deterrent.

 

She was in absolute disbelief to suddenly find his lips on her own. She couldn’t help that the first thing that came to mind was a phrase that was long ago said of her. ‘ _More courage than sense’_ echoed to the forefront of her mind, working to fog her thoughts while helping her to forget wisdom. She dropped the hold she had on her blades in favor of running one hand up beneath his shirt and fisting the other in his mass of curls. A low rumble of approval emitted from his throat as she returned his ardor and arched herself into him giving him the friction he so desired.

 

He looped a hand underneath her back to pull her closer, though once she heard the characteristic thump of metal going into wood, and then felt a switching of hands around her waist before it sounded again, she smirked through the kiss realizing that he’d felt the need to get the blades out of her reach.

 

He must’ve felt her grin on his lips because he pulled back briefly. “I’ve had enough of your fangs wolf girl.” He informed her as he pushed her fully back against the ground using the full length of his body to grind against her.

 

She ran her hands across the large expanse of his back as he moved to her neck. When he nipped at her throat too roughly she dug nails into his skin. He hissed slightly and withdrew enough to tug his shirt fluidly over his head, and at the sight of him bared Arya was too busy drinking in the view of what she hadn’t seen the other night to care about the fact that he brought her hands up and occupied them with his own above their heads amongst the feel of what she could only assume was his discarded shirt. Stannis Baratheon could’ve walked out in a pink frock at that very moment and mounted a dog and she wouldn’t even have been able to tear her eyes away from the auburn titan above her.

 

She’d seen well built men before but Seven Hells looking upon him was like a receiving an anatomy lesson from a maester, albeit much more pleasurable. Just staring at him for a few seconds she felt more educated about the human body than she had previously. Every rippling and taut muscle stretched smoothly over slightly tanned skin and she couldn’t help but wonder where he had been and what he had done to find the means, time, or need to hone such flawlessness. 

 

He quickly moved his ravenous mouth south working to undo the laces of her shirt with his teeth while she was left panting in anticipation. As he exposed her breasts and looked up into her eyes wickedly, nuzzling a nipple maddeningly with the tip of his nose as he did, she wasn’t at all concerned with what was going on above her head. That is of course until she went to push her tits further against his face in silent appeal for him to just use his bloody tongue already and quit teasing. It was then that she found her movement had been restricted.

 

A look of horror came over her features as she whipped her field of vision towards her wrists finding them now lashed together surprisingly tightly with his discarded shirt and then tied to the banister of the hallway they’d landed in. As he turned around so he was sitting on her thighs facing her feet she desperately tried to struggle against him as he removed her boots and britches and she began to feel him wrap her own clothing around one ankle in a similar fashion.

 

“I told you I’d be paying you back for my shoulder didn’t I?” He told her devilishly as he turned round to face her, straddling the one leg that wasn’t tied firmly to the banister and pushing her shirt up around her arms and over her head to tangle with the fabric restraining her wrists. She flailed and thrashed and snarled underneath him in displeasure but it only seemed to arouse him further. He just grinned back at her hungrily as he took in the vision of her before beginning his attack.

 

He leisurely trailed a flat hand down her throat and across her breasts. When he got to her waist he paused looking curious then brought his other hand up and grasped the flesh on either side of her body looking pleased when he could feel his fingers touching each other circling the tiny circumference. He hummed his appreciation and buried his head in her neck as one hand moved lower still.

 

“Small and crafty and agile.” He growled amatively as his hand reached in between her thighs and fingers ran up through her folds while breathing hot on her neck. “Such a capable little wolf and so _so_ wet for me.” Arya shuddered as he nipped her jaw and he chuckled huskily feeling it. “You’re body betrays you, you’re ready for me. I could easily take you right now, but where’s the punishment in that?” He questioned his eyes gleaming darkly. She yelped as his hand came down on her clit in a wet, sharp sounding smack, the sensation burning her right down to her core. “No I think I’ll force you to gush with pleasure first.” He used his thumb to push roughly against her nub, no promise of relief from the pressure in the near future. “Has anyone ever done that for you? Made you soak the ground upon which you lay and have you writhing in your own juices?” She was relieved when he moved his thumb but whimpered as he came back to tug and pinch her instead. “I’ll have you saturated and dripping and satisfied and even if you don’t want it now that I’ve tied you up you’ll come to me willingly then. Begging me to fill you after I burst the levies between your legs.” He moved between her legs keeping a hand on her free leg to prevent her from lashing out as he dipped his head, finally moving to soothe her by trailing his tongue up through her slippery crevasse and laving at her clit.

 

Arya was thankful for the reprieve but it didn’t last long considering he began to pluck and pull a bit too insistently at her nipples before grasping rough small handfuls of her now sensitive breasts with his thick fingers. She was tugging at her bindings and her free leg was trembling in his grip.

 

She tried to liberate the only limb not tied down but he dug his fingers into the flesh of thigh harshly before tutting at her and moving back to straddle it with his enormous weight. Once settled he slapped her clit again as punishment and sunk a first finger into her depths and moved his other hand to encompass her neck.

 

 She was disgusted with the breathy sigh she emitted at the feeling of his digits encompassing his neck and found herself glaring at him as he chortled at her and started pumping into her.

 

“You loathe how much you like this don’t you?” He goaded her sultrily.

 

She did. She hated that the feel of his foreign fingers where she’d only ever put her own had her squirming with need and desire for him. The idea that she was being forced into submission and found it actually appealing was even more galling.

 

He tightened his grip on her neck. “It was the threat of being strangled that drenched your small clothes so thoroughly in the first place wasn’t it?” He smirked thrusting in deeper now with two fingers. Arya let out a little trill thinking he’d be bursting more than whatever levies he’d been speaking about earlier if he went any further. He paused before going on. “No one’s ever handled you like this before have they?” He pondered as he lazily pumped in and out of her and she worried her lip to prevent from crying out for more. “No, you’re not one who’s used to having a lack of control I think.” He squeezed harder on her throat to emphasis the predicament he had her in and she blinked rapidly beginning to see spots in her vision. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to enjoy this.” He promised ominously.  

 

She was thankful when he let up on the pressure to her throat and she could once again gulp in large breaths from the atmosphere. The reprieve was fleeting however, for soon he was plunging his fingers into her crudely and she was gasping for air for another reason entirely. The painful bit of pleasure as his fingers delved ferociously into her, his digits only halted in their exploration of her cunt by the collision of enormous fist to her too small opening, felt wholly too exquisite considering what it was. She found her body obligated to try and move to match his movements seeking more though still restrained. Predictably, in the process of her squirming she found her thigh began to rub deliciously into his erection as he straddled her leg to keep her from lashing out. She couldn’t help but train her eyes on his strained laces from over her jostled breasts.

 

His eyes must’ve followed her gaze because suddenly the hand was removed from her cunt, though not from her neck, and he was freeing himself from his restraints. “You seemed to enjoy the view of my cock, if the other night was any indication.” He maneuvered himself forward presenting himself shamelessly for her eyes before taking himself in hand and pumping his shaft a few times then letting himself flop back down and bounce against her skin. He rolled his hips and his shaft moved up and down her thigh and it was as if she was in a trance. He chuckled feeling her eyes on his thick prick, “Perhaps you _do_ want it now.”

 

Her grey gaze whipped up to his glittering blue eyes and she glared murderously at him, yanking on her restraints hard enough to make the old banister groan. She would rather die than give him her maidenhead through forced submission.

 

He only smirked at her ferocity and returned his fingers to her cunt while rubbing a thumb over her clit as if apologizing for their absence. “I understand your impatience.” He teased. “ But I have to dole out my punishment and make you come like a tidal wave all over yourself before I’ll take you with my cock.” He moved his hips in time with his fingers and the head of his cock brushed over her belly causing the muscles of her abdomen to flutter as she watched enthralled and feeling tortured.

 

He chuckled seeing her grimace and leaned down closer to her, surprisingly able to keep his weight balanced on his knees so as not to put it on her neck. “By that time of course you’ll be eager for it.” He whispered wickedly his lips brushing over the corner of her mouth and staring intensely into her eyes as she choked down a moan of pleasure, shuddering against the silken skin of his cock as it poked into her skin.

 

He was lucky that he decided to actually take some initiative to do something other than tease her because at that very moment she was likely to rip the bannister from its holdings out of pure frustration not to mention outrage and fury.

 

He curled his callused fingers so they ran along the top of her canal as he pulled them out of her slowly. Her eyes widened at the sensation and he hit something inside of her she hadn’t know existed as there began to build a burning urgent need for repetition and the promise of a release like nothing she’d ever experienced.

 

He didn’t disappoint. He repeated the movement, only this time faster and with more pressure. Her eyes rolled back in her head and all the muscles in her body convulsed as she moaned like a wolf in heat. She was helpless to stop the keens from issuing from her lips as he again and again curled his finger over the same spot but in stauncher more insistent rhythms. She was almost happy that as it built and she got humiliatingly louder, his grip on her neck tightened constricting her airways and muffling her sounds.

 

She began writhing like an eel out of water as the sensation in her abdomen built to some cataclysmic point and soon enough she could hardly see because his fingers were clenched around her throat to the point that her vision was going black from lack of air and she was seeing spots. Somehow though that didn’t stop her from feeling his cock tensing along her thigh as she squirmed and he spurted something hot onto her stomach. It didn’t stop her from experiencing the maddening tension coiling tighter than a taut bowstring within her loins either. If anything the feelings were so much more acute.

 

Her body was screaming at her for air, all her nerve endings tingling and hypersensitive having recognized the threat of being shut off completely and wishing to feel as much they could in order to provide her mind with sensory information and the means to prevent oncoming unconsciousness. It was surreal and intense and invigorating, and when his fingers finally found the required pressure needed as they curled into her core, her release was pure ecstasy and she could feel a flood of liquid gushing out from within her just as he’d promised. It soaked the wood beneath her and ghosted over her skin, the wave fluid and droplets noisily splattering as he ushered even more of it out as she continued to tremble through the most concentrated of orgasms. His fingers were suddenly off of her throat and she was gasping in air like a drowned man trying to find control of her own body but finding it weak with pleasure and exhaustion.

 

He leaned over her while she drank in sweet oxygen and her vision began to come back. After it returned entirely she could feel her wrists were now free and that he was working on untying her leg. She rubbed her wrists together still unable to find the strength to do anything but pant, but when she finally sat up she realized she wasn’t done.

 

Her eyes flickered from the seed spilt on her stomach to the puddle in between her legs and finally to the young man crouching in front of her, his cock still hard for her and bobbing jeeringly. Arya moved her gaze up his torso and to his mischievous blue eyes and infuriating smirk. With energy she hadn’t realized she still possessed after such an intense release she flung herself on him. She hooked still shaky legs around surprisingly narrow hips for someone of his size, and he caught her as he came to his feet moving to put her between him and a wall, their lips greedily molesting one another all the while.

 

It was Arya who finally reached around to place his cock at her entrance, but once there he sheathed himself inside of her in one swift powerful thrust that had her crying out stridently as he broke through her maidenhead.

 

The silence was deafening and all movement had stopped between them as her body clenched and convulsed around him trying to accommodate his intrusive girth. Slowly he withdrew enough to look down between them while she tried to slow her breathing and come to terms with the marvelous feeling of fullness.

 

He must’ve seen blood on his cock for when he swiveled his head back up he tugged her chin down so she was looking at him. He had one eyebrow angled in a questioning manner and a lopsided smarmy grin on his face. “A maid?” He asked seeming a bit surprised but certainly not displeased.

 

She couldn’t help but smirk at his disbelief. “No one’s ever caught me before.”

 

He barked out a wolfish laugh before burying himself back into her and grinding his hips in small circles, his breath hot on her neck. “It seems you have some wolf-blood running through your veins as well.” He whispered against her neck as he caressed her skin with his lips in a decidedly tender manner.

 

With his words something clicked in her mind a sense of dread pooled in her stomach as she tensed.

 

Wolf-blood, auburn hair, blue eyes…Tully blue eyes.

 

How could she not have seen it before, how could she not have understood why she was drawn to him?

 

Her father always said the youngest Stark reminded him of his brother Brandon, and now it certainly seemed as if he’d inherited their Uncles famed stature and wild disposition. The Auburn titan was Rickon. Rickon who was supposed to be dead!

 

Only Rickon was most certainly _not_ dead. Arya could feel just how alive he was _inside_ of her.

 

Had he seen the look of horror on her face as she tried to push him away at that moment he might’ve known that she wasn’t resisting just to be defy his control and take it for herself. As it was, he didn’t, and so he thrust into her harder with all the force of his strong legs, warning her into submission.

 

Arya’s eyes rolled back in her head at the marvelous sensation and suddenly everything but pleasure was pushed from her mind as she became helpless to feel of her brother’s magnificent cock drawing her closer to the edge once more.

 


	2. Wolves of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drawn to death and cold like moths to a flame.

 Rickon...

 

Gods _Rickon_ …

 

Her brother’s hands claiming her, his lips mauling hers… their bodies joined as one…

 

Why did it feel so unequivocally _right?_

The feel of him inside of her now seeming almost necessary for her to continue to hope to breathe—to live, to finally feel alive after so long being vacant of anything!

 

Her head was a mess of emotions in complete turmoil but her body refused to let her dwell on any of it, each thrust of his being into hers driving any doubt or fight from her mind. Submission was the only option, and fucking gods had it never felt so right!

 

The erratic pulse of his heart matching the hammering pace of her own, the same blood—wolf blood, racing through both of their veins and seeming to magnify their attraction—their need and want and lust for each other something corporeally biological; beyond tangible.

 

His breathe thick on her collar, his teeth biting into her flesh against the strain of his effort as she raked nails over the tensed muscle of his back, both of their eyes clenched shut in ecstasy only to find one another and stare challengingly, staggered that the carnal tension could be any more intensified and redoubling their efforts to work in tandem and discover it’s limit, infinite though it seemed it was.

 

He shifted her abused body easily in his arms even though he’d been holding her up, slamming gratifyingly into her and pushing her up against the deteriorating wall over and over again for what felt like an excruciatingly impossible amount of time, splinters driving into her back.

 

The pain of it all punctuated just how indecent and corrupt her enjoyment was, but she was helpless to stop it, and, though distressing, didn’t wish to.

 

She was powerless against her need for him, her body begging to be brought to yet another release at his hands, bringing with it a moment of blinding euphoria that would push the truth of her depravity to the furthest corners of her mind.

 

She fought the oncoming tidal wave of pleasure so it wouldn’t yet happen. She didn’t want the wicked act to end, to feel him stop moving within her, to be absent of the build of an orgasm with which she could forget their immoral perversion.

 

She knew once released her reprieve from the truth would disappear within moments, and him from her body with it, leaving her weak and disgusted and alone to deal with the reality of what she had just let happen.

 

Still, as his leverage and angle changed and he spread her wider, removing his harsh grip on her posterior to loop hands under the crooks of her knees and support the whole of her weight, there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable detonation low in her core.

 

The muscles of her abdomen convulsed in abhorrent delight around the cock thrusting brutally inside of her, battering her passionately. That marvelous pinpoint of wicked pleasure mounted once more before roiling to a shattering peak, reaching a crescendo and thundering outward through her being with the force of a stampeding Dothraki horde.

 

Her climax pulsed through the entirety of her body leaving her rigid and enervated and shivering just as a liquid heat surged into her abused depths while the man holding her up grunted and growled finding his own release within her. So full of his pleasure, she felt the trickle of creamy liquid oozing around his girth while still inside her, the feel of its sticky thickness dripping gratifyingly down her soaked perineum and over her arse.

 

The poignant tainted stillness that followed as he remained sheathed inside her was too much to deal with. She desperately wanted to continue if only to escape the inevitable onslaught of disgust and horror that was sure to follow, but her body protested, unable to take much more abuse.

 

She was trembling in pleasure and revulsion and as he withdrew from her finally, letting her feet to the ground before stumbling away panting himself. She didn’t have the strength to hold herself up and crumpled to the ground, falling on her hands and knees similarly out of breath.

 

She ran a hand between her thighs and stared in horrified disbelief at the mixture of blood and seed she came away with, the sound of it dripping onto the ground from between her knees only serving to jar her more.

 

As if she needed confirmation that the nightmare was real, that she wasn't imagining the foul throbbing ache caused by the absence of her brother from her cunt, she swiveled her head to the man trying to catch his breath as he sat with his back leaning against the far wall staring at her wryly, appearing self-satisfied and smug.

 

He had one knee propped up with a thick forearm lolled lazily over it as the muscles of his chest heaved and billowed, sweat rolling off of his naked body in sheets and giving him the look of a glistening deity. She ran her eyes along his frame, up from his strong lithe legs, to the thatch of auburn hair decorating the v of his muscles right above his crimson tinged, still half-cocked shaft. It seemed to jeer back at her mockingly having been painted with the blood of the last shred of her innocence.

 

Blinking away hysteria, her gaze finally swept up over his middle to find deep blue eyes looking upon her quaking form with brows furrowed. Eyes that she now realized were so familiar, eyes that looked back at her from the faces of her mother, Bran, Sansa, and Robb.

 

Rickon…

 

She looked away quickly squeezing her lids shut and feeling moisture escape. Her fists clenched and she held her jaw shut tightly less the sob she was holding back slip out, a sudden tightness in her chest that was stifling threatening to overcome her.

 

Why was the world so cruel as to return family in this manner? The only one of them still alive and she couldn’t fathom meeting his eye with anything but a feeling of disgrace accompanied by an unnatural need for his cock.

 

She pushed herself brusquely up to her feet and quickly scrambled for her clothes, hurriedly and clumsily dressing herself, feeling with all of her being the need to get away, far away. She didn’t look back at him when she heard him push off the wall and move for his own garments.

 

She rapidly dropped out of the window and back into the courtyard. Once out of sight she swiftly moved to recover only her wolf-hilted daggers, disregarding all of her other precious steel in her urgency before she ducked out of the courtyard into darkness and sprinted away from the manse and the hundred isles of Braavos forever.

 

She counted the moons as if they would wash away the ignominy she felt at the wickedness of their hapless transgression. Even so, she knew better than to believe that the shame she awoke with every morning due to the persistent dreams of his massive hands and deft tongue, leaving her aching and wet and desperate come sunrise, would ever fade to nothing.

 

It seemed a nasty twist of fate that all the ships leaving the harbor that morn were bound for Westeros. It was easy to be rid of even the most useless of cargoes in the lands ravaged by war and winter. The people across the Narrow Sea needed and would take what little they could get their hands on and the Braavosi would exploit any opportunity for trade. It was a fact that she wasn’t ignorant to given her occupation, and she knew trade goods were in short supply with the coming of frostier tides, but she couldn’t stomach being in the same city let alone continent as her only remaining brother. She couldn’t live with the temptation of repeating her most reviling indiscretion and destroying what little she had left of herself and her family.

 

Believing herself absent of choice, Arya bought passage back to the lands that years ago had decimated the Starks in hopes of putting the Titan of Braavos and the only one of them still breathing behind her.

 

The roiling of the waves that tossed the sleek ship about as if it were a toy in some spoiled ornery Lord’s bath seemed to mimic the turning of her moontea-addled-stomach and the dark tumultuousness of her thoughts—the violent handling of the vessel by the unforgiving seas reminding her of the contemptible act that had left her feeling betrayed by the satisfaction of her own body and which now tainted all memories of her family. She wondered if she would ever escape it.

 

Though the days and the ship took her further and further from the hundred isles of Braavos, she remained trapped in that dilapidated manse, suffocated by the immense and iniquitous pleasure she had received at the hands of an ignorant brother. Even with land looming large and spanning the horizon ahead, she was still haunted by the reality of their sinfully debauched coupling and beseeched the old gods and new in hopes that she might escape her recent past by returning to an older though still terrifying one.

                                                        

The famine and suffering she found upon her arrival in Maidenpool was enough to drive her from the city in haste to remain oblivious to the plight of the people, a plight she had only just escaped as a child. It was then that the wolves found her.

 

With what little supplies she could bring herself to steal from the already grossly impoverished, she took to sleeping in the trees and secured herself to their trunks by rope. She never risked a fire and avoided the path of men, but on the third night she woke up to a pack of what looked to be hundreds of silent wolves surrounding her in every direction, snouts held up to direct ruminative eyes to her. She looked down when she heard a whine and scratching to find a familiar pony sized wolf standing on hind legs trying to reach her, head tilted and tail swaying hopefully.

 

Leading Nymeria back to her was the first small mercy the world bestowed upon her in useless attempt to make her forget what had driven her from Braavos.  

 

The wolves became her escort and companions and she led them away from the Riverlands. Away from the people that had already been devastated more by war than any in the Seven Kingdoms. She led them North towards the Neck where they were free to ravage the lands of the Frey’s as they pleased before they passed through the bogs of the Crannogmen, the feel of eyes following them the entire way.

 

She lost track of time having lost contact with people altogether as she roamed the Rills and the Barrowlands, the lands surrounding the Saltspear and the shores where the Ironborn might be foolish enough to raid.

 

It wasn't until tens of moons had passed that she sought out people once more. What large bands of men were doing crossing through the Neck and heading North piqued her curiosity. So instead of avoiding the Kingsroad, she traveled to Moat Cailin to halt their progress and question their intent.

 

It was only happenstance that the group she should come upon were the remnants of the Brotherhood Without Banners. None seemed to recognize her and they were wary of a lone traveler bold enough not to hide from unfamiliar and armed men in such violent times.

 

When she had questioned their business they had questioned her sanity. Why would a young woman in a war torn realm travel alone in the dregs of winter? How could she possibly hope to survive by herself? And most importantly, who was she to question them?

 

When she told them she wasn't alone and their horses began to whicker nervously, stamping their feet near panic, they noticed her wolves had slunk silently from the treeline to surround them. It wasn't until Nymeria strode to take her place by her side that they named her Stark and told her the Long Night had come and the resurrected Lord Commander Snow had called upon all able-bodied men to help fend off the Other’s. They were headed for the Wall and she knew fate had forced its will upon her once again.

 

Another brother returned.

 

She was called to go to him.

 

Arriving at the encampment surrounding Castle Black, Ghost found her before Jon did, though her brother was not far behind. One after the other they burst through the line of Wildlings, all of whom stared in open astonishment at the arrival of a girl accompanied by hundreds of wolves and a band of soldiers who warily kept their distance.

 

Though Ghost bounded purposefully towards his eager litter mate without question, Jon paused in a moment of unguarded wonder and disbelief as he stared at his returned sibling before sprinting to her and nearly breaking all of her ribs as he swept her off the ground and held her to him fiercely. It was as if he was afraid she might disappear at any moment.

 

He seemed to think she was some sort of apparition as he held her at arms length and looked her over half a hundred times. No words were shared between them, just emotions, until the arrival of a third Direwolf, huge and dark and fierce. He joined his brother and sister, tackling both the smaller wolves to the ground to begin rough housing.

 

Her smile was wiped off her face just as Jon gently and excitedly informed her that yes, Rickon was alive, and he was here. The smile he shot over her shoulder and the wave he used to beckon someone forward chilled her to the bone and she tensed in agony knowing it could only be one man.

 

Hoping that somehow she had been wrong, that somehow she wouldn’t turn to find the auburn titan that haunted her dreams, she forced herself to come face to face with her youngest brother.

 

The recognition was instantaneous on both their parts. Rickon abruptly stopped his approach, face gone white as the winterscape around them just as all hope fled her own body and her face twisted into an expression of anguish. They stood remembering the violent heat of their passion, forced to relive the otherworldly ecstasy once more before beginning to feel ill at the realization of truly having carnal knowledge of ones own sibling. Their shared memory now well and truly tainted.

 

His face immediately hardened to something more unforgiving than stone, but to his credit, he found his stride and closed the distance between them, adam’s apple bobbing forebodingly as he stopped in front of her and inclined his head ever so slightly, fists clenched.

 

Arya had no such strength, she looked away quickly and when Jon asked her what was wrong she excused herself citing the journey as the source of her weariness. He was instantly walking her back to his tents and shouting orders that another be erected nearby, beside Rickon’s and his own.

 

Dread building in her stomach at the prospect of being so near her younger brother, she quickly informed the Lord Commander she wished to camp on the outskirts with the wolves, that they had been her company for near on the past year. He looked reluctant to allow her request, mentioning the Wildling’s penchant for stealing brides as reasoning enough to keep her close, but she argued that she’d managed to protect herself thus far and the wolves would see to it she remained safe.

 

Still, that wasn’t good enough for Jon.

 

He seemed frustrated and looked irritated that she wouldn’t see the sense in his insistence, or fall in line with his authority as he had grown accustomed to others doing. When he outright told her he meant for her only to stay a few days before sending her back south away from the fighting and brokering no argument, her own irritation flared to the point that she drew her blades. It wasn't until he pointedly and sternly looked around at the camp full of Black Brothers, Southroners, and Wildlings that she realized she had publically challenged the Lord Commander. Still, she wasn't going to back down.

 

“ _You_ were the one to put a sword in my hand knowing I would appreciate it more than a needle.” She growled at him. “I’ve grown fond of steel, shall I show you how fond?” She goaded before pausing momentarily and flourishing her daggers. When he just scowled at her appearing exhausted and exasperated she continued. “I believe you have need of my wolves and my skills, and I would much rather you permit me to stay of your own accord than go against the will of my own brother and Lord Commander. I am no longer the girl of ten who used to follow you around like a lost pup. I’ve known nothing but fighting since the day I fled King’s Landing and I’ve survived this long only because I’ve become well acquainted with defending myself. I will fight for my life as well as the realm. You won’t send me away Jon, I refuse to go.”

 

While her words were compelling, the need to keep her safe seemed paramount in her eldest brother’s mind for he feigned acceptance with a horribly telling attempt at a submissive frown and sigh before irrationally lunging to disarm her. In hopes of what she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

 

Did he think he could just tie her up and cart her back to the remains of Winterfell to hideout during the fight for light itself? Was he so weathered by his command as to believe he could spare her from the terrors beyond the wall? That she even wished to be spared?

 

It was insulting that he didn’t even feel the need to at least draw his own blade to fend hers off. She made him pay for it as she sidestepped around him, kicking him hard on the back of the leg where thigh met calf, felling him to his knees before moving behind him and yanking hard on his curls to better expose his neck to her steel. She was much quicker than he ever thought she’d be and she hadn’t let her guard down.

 

“Not so easy is it brother?” She murmured in his ear.

                                                                                                      

She felt a presence behind her and a blade poised to enter her ribs, a large hand causing her skin to burn as it grasped the back of her neck painfully, fingers curling almost the whole way around in a manner that was much too appealing and familiar to bring comfort.

 

“You’d add kinslayer to the list of all the other wretched titles you’ve earned _sister_?” A familiar growl hissed softly in her ear.

 

There was no doubt in her mind as to what other titles Rickon was alluding to, though it was his next comment that had her hackles rising and found her barring her teeth.

 

“You claim to be Stark but your actions are all Lannister.” He sneered furiously.

 

Fury erupted in her mind at his quiet words and she called upon strength she didn’t know she possessed as she moved faster than she could ever remember. Throwing her daggers into the snow on either side of her, she stepped back into a massive and warm body so his blade was no longer at her ribs and grabbed the wrist that held it. Tugging sharply to force him to lean over her shoulder while throwing her hips back into his groin, she caught him off balance enough that, with assistance from her legs, he flipped over her shoulder. It was lucky that Jon had moved once free of her blade or else their little brother’s not so little body would’ve landed squarely on top of him.

 

The move left a serious ache in her spine and knowledge that only the strength of her anger had allowed it to succeed. Rickon was sprawled on his back looking stunned, and even more so when her boot came down on his throat and she leaned over him threateningly, eyes blazing and daring him to do anything but yield.

 

She really should’ve thought things through more thoroughly, because the next she knew he had a hand encircling the ankle she had poised to crush his esophagus and was falling ungracefully over him, landing on the ground on her side with a dull thud. She wasn't there long however, because Rickon had her on her back with her hands restrained above her head in an all too familiar and uncomfortable position.

 

He looked absolutely murderous as he held her there. “You _knew_ didn’t you?” He spat at her disgustedly, somehow managing to control his volume.

 

She glared back at him just as darkly, refusing to speak though knowing intrinsically what he was referring to.

 

He shook her roughly with his free hand. “Answer me damn you!” He seethed quietly, throwing off Jon’s bewildered attempt to remove him from their sibling.

 

He was so caught up in searching her eyes and fending off Jon that he wasn't paying attention to his positioning. She took the liberty of reminding him of his shortsightedness by bringing a knee to his groin.

 

Watching pain bloom on his face as he rolled off of her, she scrambled to her feet and faced both of her angry brother’s, remaining silent as she looked between them, finally settling on Jon.

 

“Arya— ” He began again only to be cut off.

 

“No Jon.” She shook her head gritting her teeth, trying to find words to impress upon the both of them why she was here and why she must stay. “When the snow falls and the white winds howl, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives.” She slowly and meaningfully told them only to be met with stoic silence.

 

“I know what awaits me here, what’s beyond the wall.” She broke the silence. “I’ve heard the stories.” She told them. “Jon I know the tales we begged Old Nan to scare us with as babes have come to life. You can’t protect me from it and I won’t ask you to. Winter _has_ come, and not just for the both of you.” She paused and looked pointedly to Rickon. “I am here to fight alongside men, not to make nice or resurrect a Family that I long presumed to be the last of. I’m not here to submit to the will of any but my own and I will give my life fighting those who wish to bend me to theirs for their pleasure. Blood included though I believed that list would only include the dead.” She finished purposefully before turning back to Jon. “Will you have me or shall I make for the Nightfort?” She asked finally.

 

Jon scowled resignedly but finally nodded. He would keep her close for the rest of eternity if only to keep an eye on her.

Satisfied though not pleased with the turn of events, she turned on her heel to make an escape back to her wolves as whispers of the Stark sibling reunion began churning throughout camp.

 

Word of the rabid alpha she-wolf leading a pack of hundreds spread like wildfire through the army of nearly two hundred thousand, though not all had been there to witness the spectacle. And while Jon continually made his displeasure at her presence known, he didn’t have the time or the strength to fight her and still coordinate the effort to save all of their lives.

 

Just as he’d predicted, the Wildlings began to consider her some sort of challenge to be won and it became worrisome considering her wolves were more often than not, hunting and skulking away from the men.

 

Night after night men of the Free Folk would try to steal her away like some type of prize, the mission seemingly a right of passage of sorts.

 

Night after night she would send them running and those fool enough to try a second time she served with the Gift as a means to warn others from being so rash.

 

Jon did his best to discourage them with threatening words and she found out later Rickon did his own part as well. Her youngest brother sought out each man who dared enter her tent uninvited and beat them bloody if they already hadn’t been incapacitated by her own attentions.

 

Still, they would come.

 

It didn’t begin to truly take its toll until the Other’s descended upon them and she suffered from lack of sleep. The ache she felt in her muscles constant after rotations atop the wall, helping to hoist oil filled barrels over the side and ignite them before sending them down into the mass of dead things that congregated at their gates, the horde spanning the distance of the wall from Eastwatch to west, thousands deep and relentless.

 

The job was endless though the materials their catapults and cranes could heave were not. Mole’s town and several other settlements in the Gift and beyond had been deconstructed, men working tirelessly to haul the debris to the Wall to try and crush the death that would have them.  

 

Worse still were the quiet nights when the wind would stop altogether and a glacial chill crept into their bones. The snarls and furious howls of the wolves always heralding the coming of the Other’s.

 

Wave after wave of icy abomination would scale the wall atop spiders as big as horses, just as hateful and hungry for blood as their masters.

 

The dropping of the scythe would fell only their eight-legged beasts, and though the ice let loose would crush lines of wights below, it was the creatures that ruthlessly continued up the sheer and over the ledge, claiming the lives of scores of men and destroying siege engines before finally being taken down, or more often, vaulting back over to rejoin the ranks of dead hundreds of feet below, they were the true terror.  

 

Steel was useless against their assault except to slow your own death by a blow. Only, fire, Dragonglass, and Valyrian Steel would affect them, and even then their superior strength and speed meant your skill would be the only thing to keep you alive, a lesson she’d learnt the hard way and which still haunted her dreams.

 

They’d begun to target the Lift, their spiders stringing along webs of wights as they climbed, some left to assist in the murder of those atop the wall while others were lowered or flung south to induce chaos and panic below.

 

The initial shock of finding the enemy behind the gates, the manifestation of everyone’s deep seeded fear that the dead had finally breeched their defenses, was arrested as the rabid wolves swarmed, ripping apart the wights in a rage that infected the men as well.

 

The indomitable war cries from below accompanied by the singing ring of steel and snarls of her pack invigorated her even hundreds of feet above, a morbid smile curling across her lips and a well of courage springing up within her.

 

Charging the spider harrowing her comrades as it lashed out in all directions, hissing and striking with its fangs, tossing men to their deaths as if they were playthings and progressing freely towards the Lift that ensured they could man the Wall, Arya let all thought for her well-being desert her.

 

Falling to her knees at a dead sprint, she slid underneath the beast, long daggers extended to either side slicing through eight legs like warm butter. Screaming shrilly the creature collapsed as she emerged from beneath it and fluidly came to her feet, spinning nimbly as she used the weight of her body to drive both blades through its head.

 

It was then that she spotted the Whitewalker’s hateful gaze trained on her as it began cutting through live flesh to get to her.

 

She didn’t wait for it, she met it half way.

 

The thing was ferociously fast and unyielding in its offense but there was a fire inside her that burned with the intensity of a life already stolen, one that refused to be and couldn’t be taken again.

 

Swift as the very wind that cut her to the bone, Arya met his icy blade with her own, willing her steel to hold fast, not to shatter.

 

She snapped and snarled like the wolf she was, gritting her teeth against the power of his blows as he forced her to move backwards against his torrent of abuse. And still she found an opening.

 

Lunging at him and arcing both her blades so the creature was forced to jump a stunned step back, she continued her assault following through to bring her blades overhead and down. The Whitewalker knelt to absorb the momentum of her blow and they found themselves staring face to face into the hate-filled eyes of one another, blades locked in a battle of wills and physical power, her only just looking down on his kneeling algific form.

 

Lip curled at her in abhorrence, cold rage seeping and infecting deeper into her being, Arya felt her strength failing and grit her teeth against the creature as it cruelly smiled, overcoming her brawn easily to come to its feet, pressing down upon her now and trying to reverse their positions and force her to her knees.

 

Arms trembling and straining, panic licking through her subconscious, she deflected his blade letting it slide right as she gave way to his strength and dove left. She used her shoulder to roll into a crouch only to have to dive again as the icy creatures blade drove into the ground where she’d landed. He followed once more.

 

On her knees and braced to try and stop the blow she realized she didn’t have the strength to divert or time to avoid, she clenched her eyes shut and waited for death…

 

…but when the force of the blow only marginally jarred her shoulder, superficially cutting through her furs and into skin, she heard the distinct thrum of steel ringing at a frequency much lower then that of her familiar daggers so she looked up to see the Whitewalker’s blade tangled with hers as well as Longclaw’s and Widow’s Wail, Jon and Rickon on either side of her and straining against the snarling enraged beast.

 

Without thought she reached for the Valyrian steal letter opener strapped to her thigh. She drove it home into the torso of the creature and watched it turn to screech at her in otherworldly fury before shattering into a thousand sharp shards, it’s pieces leaving tiny cuts on what little skin she had exposed.

Falling onto her arse in exhaustion and having to watch Rickon march away tensely while Jon began to angrily scold her for engaging both beasts had been enough of a nightmare, but returning to her tent that night and every night after to find the Other’s haunting her dreams, feeling as if their cold blades truly were penetrating her body and soul as she watched them hack away at her brothers was exceedingly worse. Her screams that first time had been answered by the three Stark wolves and Rickon who came bustling into her tent several minutes later half clothed and bewildered, Widow’s Wail flailing wildly looking for threats.

 

When he saw none, only her, furs clutched to bare breasts, the skin of her shoulders exposed and looking up at him in confusion as the terror wore off to be replaced by a warmth between them, he visibly gulped before turning on his heel and practically running from her tent.

 

Though the dreams persisted with the never-ending assault, her younger brother’s heartening presence did not. And as the severity of battles and incumbent nightmares grew in earnest, her longing for comfort did as well. This dark new world would never let her rest.  

 

If she wasn’t fending off Whitewalkers in the field or in her dreams, she was fending off being stolen by Wildlings in camp. Disconsolate, she thought to curb the attempts she might take a man to bed. She wanted and desperately needed the companionship, vainly hoping to stave of the cold and loneliness, but she was never able to follow through and often times it ended in bloodshed.

 

When the men of the Brotherhood saw her marching through their camp they were surprised, but when she stalked her way over to the tall raven-haired blue eyed bastard knight that she had deliberately and callously ignored up to that point, they were shocked to see her drag his lips down to hers and seemingly try to devour the stunned fellow. Still, it only took him a moment before he was returning her fervor, although he did have the foresight to pull away and drag her to his tent when she began fumbling with his laces in plain view of everyone.

 

She was practically climbing on top of him in her desperate urgency but once he removed her shirt and then reached for the buckle of her knife belt, he found himself suddenly on his back facing a murderous and frightened looking Arya, wolf-hilted daggers slicing superficially into his neck.

 

He held his hands away showing he meant no harm, and suddenly her eyes went wide and she was running from the tent leaving a flabbergasted and bewildered man wanting and bleeding in her wake.

 

She had only experienced what it meant to be pursued, to struggle before being forced to submit, and she found herself incapable of yielding willingly and allowing herself the vulnerability to find release at the hands of another. The first and last time she had it nearly destroyed her.

 

She despaired of ever finding rest or respite from men sneaking into her tent, and was desperate and exhausted enough to think that maybe being stolen was the only way to earn a reprieve.

 

When the lithe appealing looking Thenn entered her tent on an evening soon after, she wasn’t inclined to fight him.

 

He was nearly silent but her ears were tuned and accustomed to looking out for intruders and she stilled the moment he invaded her space. When she turned, her eyes swept over him and her body responded in a positive way. She thought this stranger might be her savior. He was appealing in his strength and ruggedness, clearly capable and certainly attractive. She did want him, but even if her subconscious rebelled and she tried to pull away she knew he wouldn’t easily let her. He might be her answer.

 

He considered her warily and when he took a testing step towards her, anticipating a fight and trying to gauge her through her stance, he frowned seeing she didn’t move an inch. He narrowed his eyes at her curiously and when she began to stalk towards him he tensed, weapons at the ready in case she withdrew hers. When, instead she kissed him he was astounded but not displeased and soon returned her plea for more with a surprisingly soft though still demanding eagerness.

 

Arya had him half undressed and was desperately clinging to him, appealing for more, when he wisely went for her knives instead of simply removing her belt.

 

With all her security seemingly just out of her grasp, leaving her vulnerable to the ravenous hands and steel attempting to divest her of clothing, true unadulterated panic rushed in and her bestial assassin’s instinct took over.

 

Mindlessly, and whip fast, she ducked low to swipe legs out from underneath her assailant and in the next she was subconsciously following him to the ground turning one of the blades still in his grip back on himself and putting her weight on top of his wrist.

 

She buried the dagger in his neck as his back hit the floor and withdrew it just as swiftly in a shower of blood that sprayed her face and dyed her shirt crimson in a jarringly violent pattern.

 

It was only as the poor fellow’s hot blood began to drip down her face that she blinked away confusion and was able to wrap her head around what just transpired.

 

Not a little disturbed and trembling as realization dawned on her, she uselessly tried to staunch the bleeding with the pressure of her hands as she blubbered out hopeless apologies, sobs finally overcoming her as she and watched the life drain out of the boys eyes, his own blood dripping back onto his skin from where it mixed with the tears rolling down her cheeks.

 

The anger, anguish, and pure exhaustion she felt in that moment had her grabbing up her daggers only to begin slicing maniacally through the canvas of her tent without thought; frustration and despair bearing down on her.

 

When she finally fell to her knees out of breath and emotionally spent she gathered what meager possessions she owned and stood looking down on the ruin of her camp and the body of the young man just inside.

 

She stared blankly out in front of her as she emotionlessly smashed her only lantern on the ground and watched the first lick of flames begin crawling up the ragged scraps of the canvas tent and catch on the fur lined clothing of the man who she’d tried to welcome to her bed and take pleasure from, and who’s life she had stolen in reflexive terror.

 

With the flames of her tent illuminating the night sky at her back, Arya staggered her way solemnly to the middle of camp, hundreds of wary eyes following her movements, taking in her hardened appearance, her clothing and face a mess of blood, her red stained skin streaked with tears, a tormented look haunting her eyes.

 

With each step she took the exhaustion bore down on her. The lack of rest, the countless days spent in the frigid cold fighting the undead, the nights consumed with trying to seek sleep though thwarted by trespassers and dream demons. All of the weariness that she had managed to ignore seemed more and more overwhelming with each progressive step she took, so much so that when she finally pushed back the canvas flaps of the command tent she stumbled inside only just meeting her brother’s eyes before she collapsed into darkness without so much as a word.

 

When consciousness finally returned it was to the feel of something warm and wet trailing over her cheek. A moment of confusion swept over her knowing Nymeria stayed with her pack rather than by her side in camp, but when the fog cleared and she trailed familiar dark fur through her fingers, her nerves settled immensely and she nuzzled into the proffered crown of the wolf’s head in front of her thinking she was alone with the animal and taking what comfort was offered.

 

“Shaggy to me.” A gruff commanding voice called from the corner of the tent just as the huge wolf bounded off the bed. Arya whipped her head in direction of the memorable voice dreading the knowledge of whom she would find.

 

She watched guardedly as Rickon pushed up off his knees and came to stand, stretching to his impressive height while considering her coolly with his haunting blue eyes and daunting stance. She held his stare with her own determined grey gaze waiting for the rebuke she was sure would follow.

 

When she was greeted by only a lingering, challenging silence, leaving the tension radiating between them to compound and electrify perilously, she finally looked away feeling the shame of her own submission once more at his hands.

 

“You’re awake.” He deadpanned though she swore she imagined a tinge of relief in his tone.

 

She nodded her head curtly, but when he didn’t move to leave or speak she felt wholly uncomfortable and found herself snapping at him. “I am. You can take your leave now.”

 

The corner of his lip twitched in annoyance but he didn’t move an inch otherwise and she could almost feel the atmosphere darken tangibly. She knew what to expect next seeing as it was long over due and she was once again trapped and at his mercy.

 

“Did you know?” He demanded of her indomitably.

 

She turned angry eyes back to his, affronted that he thought poorly enough of her to believe her intentionally capable of such an abomination. She shook her head stiffly. “No.” She snarled, angry that he had to ask though after a moment she once more looked away in disgrace. “Not at first.” She begrudgingly told him the truth, seeing him tense visibly.

 

“When.” He deadpanned harshly clearly looking for answers as his rage swelled at the admission.

 

She glared at him feeling aggrieved, knowing he unjustly placed the blame wholly on her. “After you took my maidenhead.” She spat disgustedly, none too happy to be recalling the memory but pleased to relieve herself of some of the guilt. “The wolf-blood truly does run through both of our veins, doesn’t it Rickon?” She retorted acerbically, her tone thick and biting and her expression twisted with resentment as she repeated the words he’d uttered that’d made her realize whose cock had been shoved inside of her, shattering her already fragile world along with the thin veil of skin that marked her a virgin.

 

She felt some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing him flinch, but it immediately had her feeling regretful and sorry for him, so she looked away sourly, exhaling a bitter breath. “Father always said the North ran cold through our veins, that the wildness everyone saw in some of us was because of the wolf-blood….” She trailed off momentarily. “You were so young, young enough not to remember…” She plucked at the furs covers angrily. “I knew once those words passed your lips you somehow had.” She admitted miserably before looking back up at him. “I thought everyone was dead Rickon.” She confessed distantly, hoping to see the hate disappear from his eyes. “But you weren’t.”

 

She watched as her younger brother’s eyebrows furrowed and a clouded look darkened his features. He appeared to be looking into himself, attempting to recall events as they happened, and seemed troubled by what he found.

 

“You tried to push me away.” He finally murmured with an unsettled frown, his eyes searching the ground before hardening as he pushed all feeling to the side and forced himself to look up at her, body rigid, jaw and fists clenched after seeing confirmation staring back at him.

Once again silence lingered, but this time it was he who backed down first, feeling uncomfortable with the answers he had sought for himself and turning on his heel brusquely to take his leave. “Jon wishes to have words with you.” He said with his back turned while pausing at the entrance “Much has changed in the week you’ve been unconscious.” He mumbled distractedly as he pushed hurriedly past the tent flaps and into the cold.

 

Watching him go she was sickened by the feelings of desertion and sympathy that plagued her, as well as her minds desire to stop and beseech him to stay and offer her comfort in a manner that no brother should his sister. Even so she still managed to be shocked at hearing how long she’d been abed.

 

A week. She had been unconscious for the entirety of a week, and yet she still felt listless and sluggish, and now disgusted that she had experienced relief in passing on the burden of fault to her younger brother.

 

She was drowning in her own self-loathing when the arrival of Ghost warned of the coming of her elder brother.

 

Jon walked straight to her bedside once he pushed through the canvas and immediately sat down to pull her into his arms without a word. The silent act of comfort was offered in much the same manner as their father had been wont to do all those years ago when she had been caught doing something foolish.

 

Although in the midst of a bustling and embattled war camp, she hadn’t felt so safe since her days as an ignorant child and she cherished the feeling as she hugged her brother to her fiercely, clawing at his cloaks and furs and smothering herself in his collar.

 

“You are not alone Arya.” He murmured into the crown of her head. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.” He soothed, smoothing her hair with a gloved hand. After a moment he pulled her away so he could tilt her chin up and look into her eyes, smiling tenderly at the oh so familiar grey that stared back at him. “You are capable, no one believes differently,” He asserted before continuing, “but you would drive yourself into the ground before confessing to exhaustion. You’re no good to anyone if you’re just another solider for the Other’s to cut down and resurrect.” He stressed before grimacing slightly and hardening himself for what he knew he had to tell her. “I know you won’t be pleased to hear it but I had the Maester’s feed you milk of the poppy to help you rest and recover your strength.” He informed her stoically clearly expecting a reaction. When her eyes darkened and she tried to pull away from him angrily, he held onto her tightly, his eyes intense as he seized her urgently by the shoulders with the air of the Lord Commander about him.

 

“ _Listen_ to me Arya.” He pleadingly growled at her, his demeanor changed, his tone grave as he gripped her shoulders tightly. “Things have changed. The Wall it’s…” He pressed his lips together thinly, not wanting to say it aloud and believe it for himself. He had to look away momentarily though he resolved himself to look her in the eyes once more. “The Wall has fallen.” He told her finally, watching her initial disbelief transform to unease as it all sank in. “We lost half our men and were unable to burn most in our retreat. I gave the order for the trenches we dug around camp to be set fire with what fuel we have left in hopes to give us enough of a reprieve to recoup, but even if we burn everything, the fires will die within two days time.” He paused to let the implications sink in and dread built as she realized what he would say next. “They will attack soon. They have the numbers and advantage. We won’t be able to stop them. We will be overwhelmed Arya.” He deadpanned knowing that there was little time to spare with niceties, she needed to come to terms with it sooner rather than later.

 

Even though she knew the reality he was describing, hearing him admit there was no hope to be had pushed the breath from her lungs. Mayhaps she should’ve felt despair and desperation in that moment, however all she could muster up was bitter resignation. After hopelessly searching the air for comprehension or a means to save them all, trying to find something, anything they’d overlooked, she grimaced sardonically realizing there really was no solution to be had and never had been. This was it, of course it would come to this.

 

Subconsciously her hands found their way to her brother’s face, pushing his curls back from his eyes as she looked up at him, smiling sadly and memorizing his features through touch, thinking how much he resembled their father in both demeanor and coloration and how proud he would’ve been of him. He’d done everything he could and he would die for his efforts. She would happily give her life alongside his.

 

“This changes nothing Jon.” She told him plainly. “We fight, we are _Starks_.” She stressed to him, keeping his head still in her hands when he tried to look away at her proclaimed legitimization. After a moment, each of their eyes shining with unshed tears, they shared a small smile before Arya went on. “All I can remember anymore is fighting. I’m just happy it ends with family.”

 

Jon shook his head slightly as he grabbed her wrists from either side of his face and folded them between his hands in his lap. “Out of all of us you always were the most courageous.” He chuckled slightly before mussing her hair and moving to stand once more. “Rest now.” He ordered her as he made to leave. “I have ravens to send and plans to make if we mean to hold out as long as we can. I will find you on the field, you and Rickon.” He nodded at her with a sad tight-lipped smile as he departed.

                                                                                                   

Arya had no intention of resting and as soon as he left set about finding her daggers and clothing herself.

 

The frigid cold of death took the air from her lungs as she stepped outside into the flickering darkness. The horizon and perimeter of the camp was aflame and it looked as if they were to be inevitably consumed by some hellish inferno dreamt up by R’hllor himself. Still, that didn’t stop her from racing towards it once the howls, snarls, yelps, and cries of her wolves could be heard beyond it, already hunting their last hunt while men huddle in the safety of the surrounding fire.

 

So distracted she was in sprinting towards the losing battle and sounds of animal terror that she didn’t hear the approach of the direwolf behind her until it was baring her way with snapping jaws as a presence came up at her back.

 

“Don’t” Rickon said stoically, leaving her between him and his direwolf.

 

Arya only glanced over her shoulder at him before trying to feint her way around Shaggy. The wolf snarled turning feral, his master offering explanation.

 

“They keep the wights from swarming and smothering the fires. ” He informed her. “They see the situation for what it is and know what must be done. Nymeria knows.”

 

She turned on him angrily at that, feeling helpless and enraged. “Then why haven’t you stopped her?” She shrieked, fearing for the life of her pack.

 

“Could I? She’s just as stubborn as you!” He bellowed back at her with a surprising anger. When he saw her about to open her mouth in offense he plowed right over her. “Do you really think we didn’t try? That I didn’t?” He asked acerbically. “I meant to go call her back as soon as the fires had been lit but shaggy intervened with me as well.” He exasperatedly motioned to the furious wolf.

 

Arya turned skeptically back around, her doubt heavy until Rickon moved to step closer and the animal planted itself between them, squaring itself off against them both. With the thought to make another attempt to break past with Shaggy’s attention now divided, she felt a strong grip encircle her upper arm.

 

“No Arya.” Her seething brother insisted seriously, eyes boring down into hers. “I won’t let you die yet and neither will your wolf. When it looks hopeless Nymeria will seek out refuge behind the flames and all of our strength will be rallied for the Last Hunt. We wait it out.” He nodded past the fires, towards frigid death. “We keep warmth in the world for as long as we can.”

 

Feeling helpless against sense she looked up at him with furrowed brows before turning back towards where she could sense Nymeria in battle.

 

Rickon’s hand skating down the furs covering her arm to find her hand and give it a comforting squeeze was what gave her the strength to hold back, with it she felt her body and soul resigned to await fate.

 

Disconsolately she gripped his hand in return, allowing him to tug her back towards the center of camp and lead her to just outside his tent where normally there was a small fire burning. Staring at the ashes, they sat down in tense silence Shaggy between them, listening to the sounds of death and waiting for the moment it would come for them.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you didn't see before there will be a third chapter, but that's it I swear! It was just getting entirely too long. 
> 
> Anyways I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank spring break and New Holland Brewery, specifically the wonderful stout they call Dragon’s Milk, for the drunken vivid dreams and spare time that inspired me to produce this piece of work (and what a piece of work it is). Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed all the birthday beer. 
> 
> Considering I powered through the dehydration and headache that developed as I stared at my computer hung over and bored I think I’m pretty proud of this one, though maybe for all the wrong reasons considering it took two days of serious editing to get it where it is and its still not my best… Regardless, it’s less than 10K! What a feat! :)


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